


drink the sea

by jatersade



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Breaking and Entering, Child Abuse, Chloe and Marinette forced to get along because of their mutual love of Adrien?, Chloé Bourgeois Redemption, Gen, Hurt Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Imprisonment, Protective Chloé Bourgeois, Protectiveness, Secret Identity, also, as in, damsel in distress adrien, sign me up, slightly feral Chloé, the adrinette is unestablished and background but it’s there, this is mostly gen tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatersade/pseuds/jatersade
Summary: Ce n’est pas la mer à boire.Literal Translation: “It’s not as if you have to drink the sea.”A French saying that essentially means “It’s not that hard or difficult.”(Adrien has been absent from school for five days when Chloé comes to her. “I need your help,” she says, and that’s how Marinette knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.)
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Chloé Bourgeois, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Chloé Bourgeois & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 98
Kudos: 1182





	drink the sea

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This doesn’t come up at all in the story lol but u should know that in everything I will ever write for ML, Chloé IS a repressed lesbian who fixated at a young age on Adrien (the perfect boy to idealize, let’s be real) as an easy way to convince people (and herself) of her own heterosexuality. she cares about him genuinely as a friend tho.
> 
> 2\. Let’s say that this happens before Marinette starts giving Miraculous out to people, so she and Chat Noir are the only Miraculous holders in Paris (other than Hawkmoth) and Chloe has never been Queen Bee. 
> 
> 3\. the working title for this was “gabriel agreste is up to some fuck shit, and chloé bourgeois is going to prove it.”

Adrien has been absent from school for five days when Chloé comes to her. “I need your help,” she says, and that’s how Marinette knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Of course, Chloé doesn’t _start_ by asking for help, because that’s not the Bourgeois way. The first thing she says, when she corners Marinette during lunch break on Thursday, is, “Hey, loser.”

Even pressed up against the wall, Marinette takes a moment to acknowledge that she’s oddly impressed. It’s not often that someone is able to surprise her, in costume or out of it.

“Hi, Chloé,” Marinette says, smiling weakly. “Alya is actually waiting for me outside, so I’d better…” she trails off as she gets a better look at the frenzied expression on Chloé’s face. It’s a lie, anyways; Alya had left campus as soon as the bell had rung to follow up on a potential interview with someone claiming to have seen Chat Noir over the weekend. It wouldn’t normally be newsworthy, except Chat Noir hasn’t been spotted in public since last Tuesday. The source is a bust, Marinette knows, because she hasn’t been able to contact Chat Noir since Wednesday night — not that she can explain that to Alya. Still, she hopes Chloé will decide that a potential confrontation with Alya isn’t worth it, and let her go.

She tries to slide out from between Chloé and the wall, but Chloé immediately takes a step in the same direction, effectively blocking Marinette’s escape attempt.

 _Foiled again_ , Marinette thinks, and has to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

Chloé puts her hands on her hips and glares even harder. “Stop trying to run away,” she snaps. “I need to talk to you. It’s about Adrien.”

Marinette straightens, narrowing her own eyes. “What about him?”

Chloé glances around. “Come with me,” she says, and grabs Marinette’s wrist to pull her along. Marinette doesn’t rip herself from Chloé’s grasp the way she wants to, but she also doesn’t let herself be dragged away. Chloé looks almost shocked when Marinette doesn’t budge.

“Chloé,” Marinette says, allowing a little of her Ladybug steel to slip into her voice, “what’s going on?”

“We need to talk in private,” Chloé says.

“I’m sorry, Chloé, but I’m not going anywhere with you until—”

“Marinette,” Chloé interrupts. “Please.”

It’s the _please_ that gets her. Marinette knows she should be cautious. She knows who Chloé is – knows that her intentions are rarely good, that her words are rarely genuine – but she also knows that she’s never seen Chloé like this.

Marinette tugs her wrist out of Chloé’s grip, but she’s walking towards the door even as she does. “The bathroom,” she says without looking back. “We’ll talk there.”

“That’s where I was going _anyways_ ,” Chloé scoffs. Whether it’s true or not Marinette doesn’t know, but she can practically hear Chloé’s eyes rolling.

When they get to the bathroom, Chloé doesn’t lock the door, but she does close it quickly behind them. Before Marinette can say anything, Chloé is moving past her, farther into the room. She pushes open the door of every stall as she goes, sparing a moment to glance inside before moving on to the next one.

Marinette waits until she’s done before speaking, though it’s more a result of her own shock than any kind of indulgence. “Chloé,” she demands, irritated and bewildered and faintly frightened all at the same time, “what is going _on_?”

Chloé whips around, almost manic. Her mascara is smeared, Marinette notices, just barely, right below her left eye, and her ponytail isn’t as neat as it normally is. Her hands are shaking, almost imperceptibly, when she crosses them over her chest. 

“I think Adrien’s in trouble.” Chloé says.

“In trouble? Adrien’s never done anything wrong in his life.”

“Obviously I don’t mean that kind of trouble, you absolute _simpleton_. I mean – he hasn’t been at school since last Thursday.”

Marinette stares. “He’s sick,” she says slowly. “Ms. Bustier has told us so every morning since the first day he missed.”

“Don’t talk _down_ to me, Marinette,” Chloé retorts tightly. “Who told Ms. Bustier he was sick?”

“His father’s assistant,” Marinette answers readily. “Ms. Bustier told us that, too. You were there, remember?”

“His father’s assistant!” Chloé exclaims, as if her point has been made for her. “Nathalie Sancoeur, who reports directly to _Gabriel_ _Agreste_.” She says the name like a curse; like it belongs to someone sinister, instead of to one of the most famous fashion designers in the world. “He’s the reason Adrien hasn’t been coming to school, I _know_ it. I need –” she pauses here, exhaling sharply, as if it’s a struggle to get the words out. “I need your _help.”_

“Help with _what_?” Marinette demands.

“With getting Adrien _out_!” Chloé says forcefully, as if she can’t imagine a stupider question.

“Getting him –” Marinette shakes her head, backing away. “You think Adrien’s father is – what? Keeping him locked in the house like some kind of prisoner? Stopping him from coming to school?”

“I don’t _know_!” Chloé hisses, simultaneously defensive and insistent. “I don’t know why Adrien hasn’t been coming to school, and I don’t know why Gabriel would stop him from talking to _me_ , of _all_ people. I don’t know why no one has seen Adrien in a week. I don’t even know if he’s still in _Paris_. I just know something is wrong.”

Marinette takes another step back. “Gabriel Agreste is – he’s famous. He’s a public figure and an amazing designer. He loves Adrien.”

“How would _you_ know?” Chloé snaps.

Marinette pauses, honestly puzzled. “How could he not?”

Chloé grits her teeth. “Look,” she says, “Old Man Gabe is a lot of things, but he’s never been father of the year.”

“He’s a busy man,” says Marinette. “I’m sure Adrien has a lot of people taking care of him.”

Chloé’s arms, still crossed, tighten around her own body. Marinette can see, even from here, the way her perfectly manicured nails dig into the fabric of her sweater. “Have you talked to him? Since Thursday. Have you been in contact with him at all?” Chloé asks the question like she already knows the answer.

Marinette shakes her head. “No,” she says around the lump of _completely_ _irrational_ fear slowly making its way up her throat.

It’s the truth. She’d mustered up the courage to text him twice on the first day he was absent to wish him well, and once on the third day, offering to bring him his work. He hadn’t responded. She had assured herself then that it hadn’t meant anything – that he probably just wasn’t feeling well enough to hold a conversation. She had been worried that it might mean he didn’t like her, or was annoyed with her. Now she’s wondering if Chloé might be right, and she should have been worried about something much worse.

“Have you?” Marinette asks.

“No,” says Chloé.

Neither has Nino, Marinette knows — she’d heard him telling Alya about it at lunch the day before.

“Look,” Chloé says, in a tone that might be called pleading were it attached to anyone else’s voice, “Adrien _loves_ school. It’s, like, super gross of him, but he takes it seriously. He wouldn’t just _stop_ coming, and if he did have to for some reason, you and I both know he’d be texting half the class to ask for homework and notes to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. Something is _wrong_.”

“His father’s assistant could be getting the homework directly from Ms. Bustier,” Marinette suggests, but it’s halfhearted.

Chloé rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t stick. “I know you think you know everything about Adrien because of your stupid little crush on him—”

“ _Chloé_ —” Marinette yelps, but Chloé just keeps talking.

“—but you don’t know him _or_ his family like I do. You wouldn’t know because you only met them after it happened, but Gabriel Agreste has been different since Adrien’s mom died – and not in a good way. I never thought it was dangerous, before, but…” She hesitates, biting down on her lip in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness. “I always knew there was something wrong with him. It’s not just school – I’ve been asking around, and Adrien hasn’t been seen at any photoshoots or _Gabriel_ events in the last week, either.”

“That makes sense, if he’s sick.”

“Not if you know Gabriel Agreste, it doesn’t.”

Marinette closes her eyes, just for a moment. When she opens them again, Chloé is staring, a look on her face that Marinette can’t even begin to try and name. “Okay,” she relents. “Fine. All of that might be true, but we can’t go barging into Adrien’s house accusing Gabriel Agreste of — of whatever it is you’re trying to accuse him of, just because you have a bad feeling.”

Chloé shakes her head. “We’re not going because of my bad feeling,” she says. “We’re going because of yours.”

Marinette can feel the way her own eyes widen. “ _What_?”

“I know you feel it too,” Chloé says. “Your intuition is, like, annoyingly accurate. You always know when something bad is about to happen, and you know there’s something wrong now, even if you don’t want to admit it. That’s why I’m asking you. That, and the fact that you’re the only other person here who cares about Adrien as much as I do.”

“Nino cares,” Marinette points out feebly, not knowing what else to say.

Chloé snorts. “If Nino really though something were wrong, he’d march in through the front doors and challenge Adrien’s dad to a fist fight right now – and you were right,” Chloé admits, shuddering like it hurts her to say, “when you said that barging in won’t work. If we want to help him — if we want to find out what’s _really_ going on — we need to talk to _Adrien_ , not the security guards his dad has hired to keep him locked up.”

“We don’t know that’s what’s happening.” Even as Marinette says it, though, she knows that whatever plan Chloé has, she’ll go along with it. She doesn’t need her Miraculous to tell her that Chloé might be on to something.

Chloé doesn’t dignify that with a response. She just looks at Marinette, waiting.

Marinette takes a deep breath, and looks steadily back. “Okay,” she says. “We need to talk about this more. If we’re going to…follow through.”

“Le Grand Paris Hotel, after school,” Chloé says. Her voice is commanding, but her entire demeanor is subtly relieved. “We won’t be bothered there. We’ll figure something out.”

*

Chloé had insisted that they avoid being seen together, so they take different routes. Marinette doesn’t know if it’s paranoia that someone will catch onto them, the way it had been with the bathroom, or if she just doesn’t want to be seen associating Marinette in particular.

Marinette doesn’t mind either way; like this, at least, she had time to think. She tries to steady her own fraying nerves, but all she can think about is where Adrien isn’t, and where he might be. Then she’s thinking about Chat, who’s been out of action for only slightly less time than Adrien, and whose absence even the general populace of Paris has begun to take notice of.

She’d been jittery and on edge all day, stressed and even more anxious than usual – not that anyone had noticed, too busy talking about how Chat Noir hasn’t been seen in more than a week, now. They’re not worried yet, just curious, but Marinette doesn’t have that luxury. It’s not totally unusual for either her or Chat Noir to go off grid – to phase out of the public eye for a few days, or even weeks, when something comes up in their civilian lives – but they’ve never gone dark on _each other_. Not ever. Alya doesn’t know how right she is to be looking into the lack of recent Chat Noir sightings.

Not that Marinette can tell her, of course, which is another problem in itself. The boy she’s in love with and her best friend are both missing, and she has no one she can turn to except Chloé Bourgeois.

If Chat were here, things would be better. If Chat were here, she would have someone to talk her down from the spiral that her lunchtime conversation with Chloé has sent her down. She has no way of knowing where Chat Noir is, though – if he’s safe, or if he’s even _alive_ – and the buzz of concern in the back of her mind has only been amplified by thoughts of Adrien.

She wouldn’t be so half so worried if it hadn’t been for his last message to her. It had been delivered just before midnight on Wednesday, when she was already dead asleep, to the little burner phone she kept specifically to keep in touch with Chat Noir when she was out of costume _._

 _I probably shouldn’t even be calling you,_ the tinny voice recording had said to her. _I guess I just wanted to hear your voice, even if it’s only your answering machine._ He’d laughed, then, quieter and more reserved than his usual boisterous cackle. _You’ve always been a comfort to me, My Lady, even in paws-itively trying times such as these._ There had been a pause, then a muffled sigh. _I… found something. Or – I guess I found something out. I, uh – hah. You’re going to be so mad._

He’d been right about that, at least. She _had_ been irritated, when she’d first heard the message, that he hadn’t bothered to wait, or explain, or even consider that she might want to work _together_ – or maybe that he had considered it, and just hadn’t cared. She probably would have actually crossed the line into angry if she hadn’t been distracted by how little sense it made. He’s never kept _anything_ from her, aside from his name, and that has always been at her request. He’s certainly never withheld information related to the work they do as Ladybug and Chat Noir. They’re a _team_ ; she had always thought they’d been on the same page about that, until she’d woken on Thursday morning to his message in her voicemail box.

 _It’ll be okay, Bugaboo. I promise. I just – I have to be sure. No use worrying you over nothing, right? I think this is on me, anyways_ , he’d said, and she has been left wondering for a week, now, what could possibly have frightened him enough that he had felt the need to warn her about it, but still thought that keeping it from her was the right thing to do.

 _I’ll be in touch, My Lady_ , he’d said, voice heavy with his distinctive purr, and then the message had ended. Though it was obvious he’d been trying to hide it, she hadn’t missed the distress that had woven its way into his voice beneath his usual bravado. She’d tried to call him back something like a dozen times that morning, and a dozen more that night. He’d never answered. She had been frustrated, but she’d trusted him, the way she knows he would have trusted her. Now she wonders if she should have.

When she gets to Le Grand Paris Hotel, there’s a sharply dressed older man standing outside the doors. “You must be Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he says when she approaches. “I’ve been instructed to show you to Miss Bourgeois’s apartments.” Apartments, _plural_ , he says. _Jeez_.

He leads her to a private elevator that takes them directly to Chloé’s rooms on the top floor. Chloé is already waiting when they get there, tapping her foot impatiently in the doorway. “ _Finally_ ,” she barks, hands on her hips, but the man doesn’t seem to take it personally.

“Please let me know if I can be of service,” he says, and then bows out of the room entirely.

“Okay,” Chloé says once he’s gone, “we need ideas.” She turns on a dime and leads the way into the room, her long blonde ponytail flicking behind her. “Talking to Adrien one-on-one is our first priority, and we have to be able to do it alone.”

Marinette follows her in and drops into a large, bright pink beanbag chair. “You don’t have a plan?”

Chloé crosses her arms over her chest. “I didn’t say _that_.”

“You just don’t know how we’re actually going to do this.”

“Uh, _no_ _duh,_ I don’t. You honestly expect me spend any of my _very_ _valuable_ time trying to figure out how to sneak into rich people’s houses? I _know_ all the rich people – most of the time, they just let me walk in.”

Marinette is glad that she’s already sitting down, because she suddenly feels light-headed. “You want to break into his _house_?” she yelps, eyes darting around the room as if she might find a microphone or hidden camera waiting to record her scheming to commit a _felony_ , which is apparently what Chloé brought her here to do.

“Obviously,” Chloé says, either ignorant of Marinette’s panic or ignoring it. “I told you Gabriel won’t tell us what we need to know, and there’s no way they’ll just let us in.”

“Oh my God,” Marinette says faintly. “This is all just a part of some elaborate plot to get me arrested, isn’t it?”

Chloé scoffs. “Not everything is about _you_ , Marinette.”

Marinette purses her lips, but doesn’t take the bait. “You said you didn’t even know if Adrien is still in Paris or not.”

“I don’t. Not for sure. But smuggling an entire person out of a country without anyone knowing is hard no matter who you are, and it’s especially hard when that person is as famous as Gabriel has made Adrien. Plus, Gabriel’s a control freak. I know the type,” Chloé says, almost bitterly. “If he _is_ the reason Adrien’s gone off the map, he’ll want to keep as close an eye on him as possible. That means keeping him within reach.”

Something like a begrudging acceptance settles itself in Marinette’s chest. “You really want to break into Adrien’s house – and you want me to help you?”

“I haven’t actually heard you say ‘ _no’_ yet,” Chloé says, and Marinette pauses, because – well, it’s true. She hasn’t even thought the word ‘ _no_ ,’ yet. She’s mostly spent the last minute and a half thinking about what kind of maneuvering it will take to pull off, and the consequences if they can’t make it happen. “Besides,” Chloé sniffs when Marinette doesn’t respond, “‘breaking in’ is such a nasty term.”

“Then what do _you_ want to call it?”

“Sneaking and entering,” Chloe says promptly, and Marinette sighs, sliding further down in her beanbag.

“Have you thought this through at all? Where would we even start? The Agreste mansion probably has a _ton_ of security.” Marinette knows firsthand that this is true, though she’s never had to evade it herself, as Ladybug.

She’d honestly considered on the walk here the merits of going in costume, but she doesn’t think it’s feasible. The Ladybug uniform wasn’t exactly designed with stealth in mind, for starters. She also can’t go as Ladybug with Chloé in tow, and if she goes _without_ Chloé, she runs the risk of someone asking exactly what made her think Adrien Agreste needed checking in on. There haven’t been any recent akuma reports, so if Adrien _is_ in trouble, it’s not the kind of trouble that calls for a Miraculous user. If he’s not in trouble – and Marinette is still holding out hope that this is the case – then she won’t be able to explain Ladybug’s presence. Either way, she thinks, he’ll want to see a friendly face. Ladybug is a comfort to some people, sure, but he doesn’t know Ladybug. He knows _them_.

“Look,” Chloé says, “I _know_ we can do this. I know the grounds of the Agreste mansion better than anyone who doesn’t actually _live_ there, and you’re…hm. Smart, I guess. And I need someone to watch my back. You’re not ideal, obviously, but I suppose I could do worse.”

Marinette is sure that most of Chloé’s confidence comes from the fact that she’s never been subject to the same rules and limitations as other people; still, Marinette can recognize the truth in her words, even if the delivery isn’t exactly flattering.

Marinette sighs resignedly. “You really want to do this?” she asks.

“I don’t think we have any other choice.”

They decide to go on Friday. ( _I thought about waiting,_ Chat had said in his message, _but – well, this can’t wait._ ) If something goes wrong, Marinette reasons, they won’t have to worry about dealing with it in time for school the next day. If things go _very_ wrong, and they do end up taking Adrien with them, they’ll have a few days of cushion time that they can use to hide Adrien and themselves away, if that’s what it comes down to.

(Marinette wonders what Chat Noir would think of her, Ladybug, breaking into someone’s home. She can almost hear his voice now: _Going bad, are we, My Lady? I like it_. It would be something like that, almost definitely. He trusts her judgement enough that she doubts he’d question her, though. _Definitely a crime,_ he’d purr, leaning in, _but what’s a little Chat burglary in the name of the greater good?_ She’d snort, then, and push him away. _Bad kitty_ , she’d say, and he would fall dramatically onto his back, or maybe sprawl out across her lap. Either way, she knows, he’d be laughing.

It’s only been a week, but it feels like so long since she’s heard his laugh.

She misses him.)

*

They don’t speak at school the next day. Even Chloé forgoes her usual barbed remarks, and Marinette can’t help but think that it’s a pity she can’t find it in herself to appreciate this discovery: that the remedy for Chloé’s cruelty is, apparently, Chloé’s fear.

They meet up two hours after dark, a block and a half from Adrien’s house.

“I have a car on standby,” Chloé says – the first words she’s spoken to Marinette all day. “In case we need to get out of there fast.”

Marinette hopes it won’t come to that. She hopes that they’re entirely mistaken, and that they’ll break into the Agreste mansion and find Adrien alive and – not well, exactly, but recovering from whatever bout of sickness had kept him away from school and his friends for so long. He’ll tell them that he’s fine, and he’ll think they’re ridiculous and maybe a little strange for breaking into his house to check on him, but he’ll be too nice to say it out loud. Marinette will be embarrassed, because she’ll still know, but at least she’ll also know that he’s _safe_ ; that whatever terrible idea has gripped Chloé so tightly – that has sunk its claws into Marinette, too – is just that: an idea, and nothing more.

She wishes, again, that she had Chat Noir to talk to. She’d settle for _anything_ , at this point – any information about where or how he is. She can’t tell Alya about this little _excursion_ for the same reasons Chloé had said telling Nino was a bad idea, but she could have told Chat.

She pushes all thoughts of her partner out of her mind as she and Chloé draw nearer to the mansion. She might not be able to help both of her friends, tonight, but she can at least help this one.

(“Are you sure the cameras won’t catch us?” she’d asked Chloé.

Chloé had clicked her tongue. “Stop _doubting_ me, Marinette, I _told_ you - the Agreste mansion has cameras all over the inner courtyard, but Gabriel has always been very private. There isn’t any kind of video surveillance inside the house, or outside of the house except for in the courtyard and at the front gate – and even that one is only turned on when they’re expecting visitors. None of the cameras are focused on top of the wall because there’s no way to get up there except from the house. That’s why I’m saying we should just find a way to climb up to Adrien’s window from the back –”

“I can get us up the wall.”

“I just told you, it’s only accessible from—”

“Chloé. I can get us up the wall.”

Chloé had looked at her sharply. “Are you sure? This isn’t the time for guessing.”

“I’m sure.”)

With Chloé keeping watch, Marinette hoists herself into the tree directly to the left the main gate, and then helps Chloé up beside her. She climbs a few feet higher using the stronger branches, and from there it’s almost easy to heave herself up onto the wall in the only place it isn’t lined with enormous security spikes. Even out of costume, she’s a better than average gymnast, and she’s reminded of that by the well-disguised shock that adorns Chloé’s face when Marinette looks down at her from the top of the perimeter wall.

Chloé gets over her surprise quickly enough, though, and doesn’t say anything – doesn’t even complain about the rocks scraping at her leggings, or the grass stains she’s probably got on her clothes – as Marinette reaches down and hauls her up, too.

(“The window to his bedroom is huge,” Chloé had said, “but there’s not any kind of ledge for us to stand on, so going that way would have been difficult, anyways. If you really _can_ get up on the wall, we can go through the house itself, which is risky, but doable.”

 _Everything about this is risky but doable,_ Marinette had thought, holding back a snort. “What about the bathroom?”

Chloé had frowned. “What about it?”

“Don’t the windows to his bathroom have balconies? Can’t we use those to climb up?”

Chloé had stared. “Oh my God,” she’d said. “You _are a_ stalker.”

“I am _not!”_ Marinette had exclaimed, red in the face. “I’ve just…been there before.”

Chloé’s face had twisted up like she wanted to argue, but in a rare display of self-control, she’d held back. “Fine, whatever — but the balconies don’t matter. Unless you can _fly_ , there’s still no way to get to them from the ground level. If we can get on top of the wall, though, we can get into the main security centers. From there, we’ll have access to the rest of the house.”)

They make their way quickly along the top of the hall towards the main house, and to the door where the wall terminates – the door that will lead them inside. Marinette stops there, holding up her hand.

“Change of plans,” she says, although it isn’t, really. This had always been her plan; she had just known that Chloé wouldn’t believe she could pull it off until they were actually here.

Chloé whips around to face her. “What do you mean, change of – _what_ _the_ _hell a_ _re you doing?”_

She moves to grab Marinette’s leg – which, at that point, is just about level with her eyes – but it’s too late. Marinette is already midway through scaling the house, using the exposed ivy and divots in the bricks beneath it as her foot and hand holds. She reaches the top quickly, pulling herself over the parapet and up onto the roof with ease. Even in the dark, she can see the way Chloé’s lips move silently, mouthing something that looks a lot like _holy shit._

“You are supposed to be _clumsy_ ,” Chloé whisper-shouts up at her, though she looks less irritated than she does incredulous. Marinette shrugs, and Chloé crosses her arms, tapping her foot impatiently against the stone floor beneath her. The sound of it, quiet in reality but blaringly loud against the silence of the night, makes Marinette flinch. “What are you _doing_ up there?”

“We can walk around the back and drop onto the balcony outside Adrien’s bathroom from here,” Marinette whispers back. “This way we don’t have to worry about going through the house and getting caught.”

“That’s great,” Chloé says, narrowing her eyes. “I’m really glad this finally gave you the chance to show off that you’ve obviously been looking for, but how am _I_ supposed to get up there?”

Marinette points to the ledge that runs along the border of the outer wall. “Climb up on that, then up the ivy towards me as far as you can.”

“And then?”

“And then jump.”

“ _Jump?”_

“If you need to. I’ll catch you.”

To her surprise, Chloé doesn’t argue. Just considers, for a moment, and then nods. She stands up on the ledge, no more than three inches wide, and digs her manicured fingers into the foliage that covers the wall, testing its strength. She begins to pull herself upwards, slowly, towards Marinette’s outstretched hands.

It is in this moment that Marinate becomes suddenly, acutely aware of how very much she is _not_ Ladybug. It hits her with a startling intensity, the reminder that she doesn’t have anything but her hands to catch Chloé with, and she doesn’t have a lucky charm that will fix Chloé if she falls – and she _could_ fall. Chloé isn’t a superhero. She’s never done anything even remotely like this, but she’s still here, risking her life for a friend because of week of no contact and a bad feeling. She looks as terrified as Marinette feels, though she’s obviously trying not to show it, and it only becomes more severe when her grip slips only a few feet from the top, and the thick piece of ivy that she’d been using for leverage rips away from the wall under her hand.

Her head snaps up to look at Marinette. Marinette nods, just once, and reaches down even farther. Apparently that’s all the reassurance Chloé needs. She lets go of the wall, throwing her arms up and jumping, up but nearly backwards, so that Marinette has to hang almost her entire upper body over the edge of the roof, and –

Marinette catches her: one of Chloé’s wrists in each of her hands. The edge of the parapet digs into Marinette’s stomach, right at the bottom of her ribcage. She knows from experience that it will bruise. Chloé doesn’t scream, or even yelp; just grasps Marinette tightly around the forearms and lets out a low, choked noise that might have sounded like a sob, had it come from anyone else.

Marinette hauls her up, and Chloé lets her. They stand there for a long moment, just catching their breaths and trying to slow the quick staccato beating of their hearts. It takes about fifteen seconds for Chloé to realize that they’d never actually let go of each other. When she does, she yanks her hands away.

They slink around to the back of the house and then lower themselves down onto the balcony outside of Adrien’s bathroom window, just the way Marinette had pictured in her head. It’s easy, compared to everything else they’ve done that night. So easy, in fact, that Marinette thinks they’ve kind of got it coming when the window turns out to be locked. Marinette wants to kick herself for not expecting it, and the look on Chloé’s face says that she’s already trying to figure out the quietest way to break glass. Even in her distraction, though, she doesn’t flinch when Marinette puts a hand on her shoulder.

“I can pick the lock,” Marinette whispers, holding up two bobby pins for Chloé to see. She expects Chloé to whisper something biting back – something along the lines _of course you can, you dirty little thief_ – but she doesn’t. She doesn’t even look like she wants to. Instead, the look on her face is something close to _hungry_ : like she’s already plotting ways to get Marinette to teach her that don’t involve actually asking.

Like this, with none of the usual malice between them and all of their focus on Adrien, Marinette is almost tempted to believe that they make a good team. She would never say it aloud, and she certainly wouldn’t say it in front of Chloé, but she allows herself the thought.

It’s almost unnerving, how easy it is to get to Adrien’s room, in the end. It’s like no one had expected anyone to come for him; if he is trapped here, Marinette thinks, whoever is responsible must have been awfully sure that no one on the outside would come looking – or they had been counting on the idea that someone _would_ , and had left their defenses down on purpose. A shiver rushes up Marinette’s spine at the thought, but she pushes it aside. She’s _Ladybug_. She’s handled worse than the likes of Gabriel Agreste.

As soon as their feet touch down on the bathroom’s tile floors, Chloé is rushing towards the entrance to the bedroom; Marinette finds herself not far behind. The door creaks as Chloé pushes it open, just slightly, and though the sound is nearly inaudible even to Marinette’s ears, it’s enough that the figure in the bed across the room jolts up in response.

Marinette and Chloé both freeze, and so does the boy before them. Even beneath the oppressive weight of the silence and the dark, Marinette knows in an instant that it’s Adrien; the warmth that spreads through her at the sight of his blurry silhouette is all the assurance she needs.

There is a long moment of silence. He doesn’t say anything at first, the way she would have expected him to; the way anyone would be expected to scream, or shout, or ask _who are you?_ upon realizing that someone has entered their home through a window in the middle of the night without their permission.

“Are you real?” he asks instead, and it breaks the shroud of stillness that had fallen over them. It’s the first time she’s heard his voice in over a week, and she nearly collapses with the relief of it.

“We are,” Marinette says, and although she wants to, she cannot seem to make herself move forward. Chloé seems to be caught in some invisible web, as well, too shocked – or maybe too relieved – to respond.

“Marinette,” he says at the sound of her voice, breathless like he can’t quite believe it.

“And Chloe.”

“Together?” he asks. He sounds more bemused by the thought of them working together than he had been at the idea of two complete strangers breaking into his bedroom. Through the thick veil of darkness, Marinette can just barely make out the form of Adrien’s arm reaching out to switch on the lamp by his bed, as if the light will be enough to prove that they are more than just his imagination. That’s when Marinette hears it: a muted, high-pitched rattle, like gently clanking metal. Chloé stiffens even more thoroughly beside her, and Marinette knows that she’s heard it too.

It’s only once the light has flickered on and Marinette has blinked the glare from her eyes that she registers the shine on Adrien’s wrist, visible because of the way his night shirt had ridden up his arm when he’d leaned over to turn on the lamp. The sight of it is enough to finally unstick their bodies. Marinette gasps and makes to move towards it, but Chloé is faster.

Adrien starts to say something else, but is cut off by his own surprise at the sight them, or perhaps by the forcefulness of Chloé’s approach. She storms around to the side of the bed and grabs Adrien’s arm where it’s still outstretched. He flinches minutely, but Chloé either doesn’t see it or is too angry to care.

“What the hell is this?” she hisses, shaking his own hand in front of him like an irate dog owner shaking a chewed up shoe in front of their new puppy. Marinette just stares, trying to catch a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d lost.

“Chloé,” Adrien says again, his voice small and surprised and almost placating, but not steady enough to hide his distress. His eyes are flickering between them in disbelief, and there’s something else there, too — something that looks a little like hope, but also a little like fear.

His gaze settles on Marinette, who is standing motionless, now, at the foot of his bed. The bed that Adrien is chained to by the manacle around his wrist, smooth metal glinting in the low light, terrible and perfect, molded to Adrien like it was made for him – like if not for the chain keeping Adrien prisoner, it could have been a fashion statement; the newest piece of the Gabriel Agreste collection. 

“Never mind,” Chloé says when Adrien doesn’t answer. His eyes are still locked on Marinette. His face is thinner that it should be, almost gaunt, and he’s fragile in a way she’s never seen before. _It’s the middle of the night_ , she reminds herself. _He could just be tired_. Even in her head, the argument doesn’t hold up. She’s seen him tired. She’s seen him exhausted, and sick, and upset. This isn’t that. This is something entirely different, and worse by a giant’s measure. Chloé drops his arm like a bomb, but he still doesn’t look away from Marinette. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “We’re getting you out of here.”

This, finally, gets his attention.

“You can’t,” he says, his voice so hoarse that if Marinette had heard it over the phone, she would have believed that he really was sick.

He raises one arm (shaking under its own weight, and Marinette doesn’t know if it’s from fear, or adrenaline, or a lack of food, or something else entirely) as if to reach out to them, but seems to reconsider mid-movement, freezing before his arm is fully extended. There are a million more important details to consider, but Marinette finds herself caught off guard by his hands, of all things: frailer than she remembers them being, and so startlingly bare that she can’t help but stare.

“Where’s your ring?” she asks, and Adrien’s head snaps up. His mouth opens and closes like he wants to answer, but can’t find the words to do so. He looks like a cursed deer in the headlights; like the picture of shame and horror; like someone who has been caught in the midst of a terrible act.

He looks tormented, but he also looks _young_ – _painfully_ young – and Marinette _feels_ painfully young, and she understands, suddenly, why Ladybug and Chat Noir get the occasional question about their parents, and their schools, and their ages, and why the reporters who ask are often the loudest, the most intense, the most fraught-looking and guilty. Looking at Adrien now, she cannot imagine thrusting a child like this ( _a child like her_ ) into any kind of battle. Nothing in the world could ever stop her from fighting, but she does wonder for very first time if she’ll be able to look back ten, fifteen, twenty years from now, and justify the actions of all the people who let her.

(Whatever the Miraculous gave them, they didn’t stop being kids because of it. Super powers don’t change that. Their magic saves lives, and spreads good, but it doesn’t make something like this any easier to bear.)

“Pick the lock, Marinette,” Chloé orders, already fumbling to pull a new bobby pin out of her hair. “Get him out of that while I make a call.” She thrusts the pin in Marinette’s direction, and pulls out her cell phone.

“No,” Adrien says, clutching the manacle almost protectively. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you can’t, my father—”

“I don’t care _who_ your father is,” Chloé snarls (though Marinette notes that she is still careful to keep her voice low). “There is no world in which this is acceptable. When my daddy hears—”

Adrien shakes his head frantically. “Chloé, _no_ ,” he pleads. “ _Please_. You can’t.”

“Do _not_ tell me what I can and can’t do." There is so much heat in her voice that Marinette is surprised the words don’t burn her tongue on their way out.

Phone still in hand, Chloé steps back, away from him. He reaches out as if on instinct, panicked and unexpectedly swift for someone who doesn’t look like they’ve left their bed in a week, and grasps desperately at her arm. She wrenches herself away immediately, and levels him with a glare so sharp it could have cut the diamonds in her earrings.

“He can’t get away with this, Adrien,” she spits. “He’s gotten away with too much already, but _this_ – this is torture. This is _abuse_.”

Adrien startles, like he hadn’t expected the word; like he’s never even thought it. That’s what this is, though, Marinette thinks. There may be other words for it, other ways to describe what Gabriel Agreste has done to his son, but right now, that’s the one that matters.

“It’s my fault,” he says, still whispering. “If I had been smarter –”

“It is _not_ your fault,” Chloé and Marinette say at the same time, for once matching each other’s ferocity.

“Still.” He shakes his head. “Please, don’t. I – thank you, for coming to check on me, but this—it’s too much.”

“Too much?” Chloé demands hotly. “It’s barely enough.”

“We’re getting you out of here,” Marinette interjects, silently willing Chloé to calm down. “I’ll pick the lock, or we’ll find the key, or break the chain if we have to, but we’re getting you out of here. I know you love your dad, but _this_ – it isn’t right.”

“Your dad is going to jail for the rest of fucking time,” Chloé says. The words are harsh, and they tremble on their way out of her mouth, but her voice is as soft as Marinette has ever heard it. “You don’t have to do anything but come with us.”

“I can’t,” Adrien says. He takes a shaking breath, and his entire body shakes with it. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“It’s not as if I’m asking you to drink the sea,” Chloé snaps. “It’s one phone call. That’s all it’ll take.”

He looks at Marinette, almost pleadingly.

“Adrien,” she says gently, “she’s right. We need to find someone that can help you, and we need to do it now.”

Adrien shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I don’t — It won’t work. You’ll get hurt. I promise, my father, he has— he’s...” he trails off. “Look. If you want to help—”

“We do,” says Marinette.

“Then you need to get word to Ladybug.”

That makes the both of them pause.

“Ladybug?” Chloé asks hesitantly. “Adrien—”

“I know how it sounds,” Adrien insists, “but she’s the only one that can help me.”

“Adrien,” Marinette asks, “is your father akumatized?”

Adrien winces. “No. No, he’s not, but — look, please—”

“This isn’t a superhero problem, Adrien,” Marinette says gently. “This is a regular people problem. This isn’t a situation that can be solved with magic, it’s a situation for the police. What your dad’s doing isn’t okay.”

“I know,” he says miserably. “I know it’s not okay, but you don’t understand.” Chloé opens her mouth, probably to disagree, but he cuts her off. “I’m sorry, but you _don’t._ You don’t know what my dad can do — what he’s _done_.”

“What has he done?” Marinette whispers. She’s so afraid of the answer she’s almost grateful when Adrien stays silent.

“We understand enough,” says Chloé, but Marinette can tell that even her conviction is waning.

When Adrien speaks again, there is a desperation in his voice that makes her want to leave and take him with her, and an intensity that makes her stay and listen. “If you’ve ever trusted me before,” he says, “I need you to trust me now. I know you to want to help, and I know that you’re smart, and strong, and that it took a lot for you guys to come here tonight, and I’m – I’m _so_ grateful.” His voice breaks on that last word, and Marinette feels something in her chest break with it. “I won’t ever be able to tell you how grateful I am. But this isn’t what you think it is. It can’t be just anyone. It _has_ to be her.”

He looks almost like Chat, Marinette thinks, in one of Chat’s more self-sacrificing moments. It’s not just the green of his eyes, but the steel in them. It’s a soft kind of metal, not quite as developed as Chat Noir’s - still molten. Still taking shape. It’s there, though, undeniable and unflinching, and Marinette is reminded again of why she’s spent so long loving this boy.

Chat is always so sure that he has to be the one to take the bullet; to stop the train; to leap in the way of danger. He treats it like a game and pretends it’s for the thrill, for the laugh, for the claims he can make to chivalry and the plain old fun of it – but Marinette has always known the truth: he just wants to keep people safe. There’s nothing he wants more. It’s the hero in him, she knows, and it hurts her every time she remembers. She feels that same hurt now.

Chat is hardly ever wrong, is the thing. He knows when he’s needed, and he knows what he’s needed for. He doesn’t play the hero – he _is_ the hero.

He’s not here now, and Marinette would give anything to know why – but she knows what he would say.

He’s not here now, but he still, somehow, manages to make the decision for her.

*

Getting out is easier than getting in had been, but it weighs on Marinette far more heavily. It seems like far too soon that they’re back on the street, out of that nightmare but still living it, and an entire world away from Adrien.

The city is quiet. The darkness wraps around them like a blanket, but it does not bring Marinette the comfort she is used to.

Chloé doesn’t call a car, and Marinette doesn’t think to ask. She needs this quiet, too. She needs this time to digest the things she’s seen tonight. Seeing Adrien was a breath of fresh air and all of her worst fears come to life. It was a dream distorted, heaven and hell brought together in the same room. Leaving feels like a sin, but she’s always been weak for Adrien. Apparently, that’s something she and Chloé have in common.

They walk nearly all the way back to the school together before they finally reach the point where their paths diverge. They hover at the corner for a moment before Chloé breaks the silence.

“I can make a few calls,” she says, “to try and find—”

“I can tell her,” Marinette says. Chloé raises her eyebrows, not in disbelief or disdain, as Marinette has expected, but with something in her eyes that in the right light might almost resemble interest.

A stray lock of hair falls into Chloé’s face; a rebel taking advantage of her bobby pin sacrifice. She brushes it away thoughtlessly, and Marinette’s eyes catch on the skin of her wrists, still ringed with red from where Marinette had caught her on the roof. It doesn’t look like she’s noticed yet, but Marinette is familiar enough with the life cycle of bruises to know that these will be a deep purple by morning. Guilt turns itself over in her stomach, but she has a feeling that this is one thing Chloé won’t hold against her.

“She patrols near my house most nights,” Marinette explains. For maybe the first time in her life, the lie comes easily. “I almost always see her. I’ll make sure she knows.”

Marinette doesn’t have to ask Chloé to trust her. She hasn’t had to all night.

“Make sure you do,” says Chloé. “Tell me if you don’t. I’ll figure something out.”

“I will,” says Marinette, and that seems to be all Chloé needs; she turns and walks away.

Marinette watches her go.

She had told Chloé they would get Adrien out. She had told Adrien she would find a way to help. She had told them both that she would send Ladybug. She might not be able to help Chat Noir, but keeping her word to them is something she _can_ do.

Ladybug will be making a visit to the Agreste house tonight, and she’ll do what Marinette couldn’t manage. She waits until she is sure Chloé is gone for good, and then waits a little longer.

When she is alone except for the stars and streetlights, she turns back, and heads the way she came.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr [here:)](https://jatersade.tumblr.com)


End file.
